Hunger
by C. Jane Wright
Summary: Melinda Halliwell is tired of being written off as the weakest link. She goes off on her own to prove herself. But will she be able to help Peter, a half-demon from the Charmed Ones past, or is she getting herself in more danger than she imagined? Warning: future lemons.
1. Chapter 1

She walked through the looming, dark woods timidly. The forest was alive despite the dark. Sounds of the night's creatures echoed through her. Despite the warm weather, she pulled her cloak closer around her. Her breathing was getting shallow but she tried to school her features. It wouldn't do to have the daughter of the most powerful witches alive, be afraid. But she was. She was all alone for the first time in her life, without the protection of her two older brothers. Her lower lip trembled when she heard a lone howl. _Just a wolf, just a wolf, just a wolf_, she hoped.

The temptation of turning around and going back home flickered through her mind, but she shot them down. No, she came all this way. She had to do this. She had to prove herself worthy of being called a Halliwell.

By now, her mother discovered her absence and is trying to scry for her. Too bad she already cast a magical cloak on a literal cloak. While wearing this long black cape, no one can find her. She can just imagine her mother's fury when she gets back but it'll be worth it. They always told her she was too young to join in on the hunts. Her older brothers and younger cousins always teased that she would be too scared to do much good in battle anyway. It was true that she wasn't as powerful as her brothers though. She couldn't even orb! And to be compared to golden boy Wyatt is an absolute nightmare. From now on, no one would ever look down on Melinda Halliwell ever again.

She found the article on the mysterious disappearances in this forest online. Two whole groups of campers vanished on separate occasions. While she would have normally alerted her family, she kept quiet this time. The dark blue potion glimmered at her under the moonlight. She knew it was dangerous to try to kill something she hasn't identified yet, but she took that risk.

"You shouldn't be here," the boy's voice came from behind her.

She nearly dropped the explosive potion out of fear. She whirled around to find a much older boy. A hot blush spread across her face. Her lips parted to say something, but nothing came out.

"Haven't you heard these woods are dangerous?" he stalked closer. "You're too pretty to be alone out here."

He stared down at her with a kind of intensity that had her looking away. She tensed, unsure of what to do. Is he a demon? She couldn't be sure. Through the darkness, she could tell he's good looking. He had thick, light brown curls, carved features, and a broad, lean form. He was at least a head taller than her, dressed in a simple black t-shirt and jeans. But there was something about him that she couldn't put a finger on. Then again, she can't exactly throw the potion at him over suspicion. What if he's an innocent?

"Uh, my, uhm, friends dared me to spend the night here," she stammered.

"Some friends," he snorted.

"What about you?" she asked breathlessly.

His blue eyes darkened noticeably, his tone solemn. "Nature walk."

"In the middle of the night?" her hands tightened around the potion as her safeguard.

Before he could answer, three horrendously ugly green creatures shimmered behind him. Their sharp facial structures and gleaming yellow snake eyes reminded her of fish. She screamed, "Behind you!"

He jumped out of the way of a blow. Spinning around, he kicked the demon in the face which sent it flying. A second one tried to attack but he punched its chest. His fist lodged into its chest. She gasped at the sight. He used its body as a shield from the third one. It died when he ripped his hand out. The first one came back with a vengeance and swiped at his back. He hissed in pain before retaliating.

While this was happening, she felt a sudden blow from behind. Knocked to the ground, she threw the potion at the fourth creature. It made a high-pitched sonic scream but didn't die. As yellow blood poured from its wounds, it ran at her using hyper speed. Uttering a squeak, she hovered onto a tall tree branch to get out of its way. She watched it claw at the place she was supposed to be, its claws shredding chunks of bark. She shuddered to think that it was nearly her. In the pocket of her purse, she took of the rest of the potions she had.

She threw two more at the wounded creature and it screamed before its fiery death. When she heard the loud grunt coming from that boy, she hovered down to help. He was still fighting off the other two, though they were wounded. Melinda threw her last two potions at one that was about to claw him. It disappeared in the fire.

He finished off the last one by ripping out its throat with his bare hands. He emitted the same sonic scream at it as it died.

Melinda suddenly realized she was in a very dangerous situation. He's not human and she's all out of potions. She cursed her very limited active powers. Backing away slowly, she turned and fled. Tears filled her eyes as she couldn't run fast enough. If she could take a pause, she would have thrown off her cloak and hoped her family could find her in time, but she couldn't. She screamed when he shimmered in front of her.

"Rock," she screeched and orbed a palm-sized rock at his face.

He didn't flinch, touching the gash on his cheek. "Stop that," he growled, obviously annoyed.

When he reached for her, she hovered to a high up branch. Taking the chance, she hurried to undo the knot on her cloak. This is not happening. She was supposed to prove herself but now she's going to die. If it were her brothers or her aunts, they would keep fighting but she's terrified. Maybe her family's right. She's not ready for fighting demons.

He shimmered in front of her before she could get the cloak off. "I won't hurt you," he said, grabbing her hands.

"What do you want?" she asked, shaking.

"You're a witch, aren't you? And not just any witch. You had orbs around you. You have to be a Charmed One's kid," he surmised, getting a better look at her. Straight, dark brown hair framed big doe brown eyes and trembling ruby red lips. He chuckled, "Man, you're one scaredy-witch. I wouldn't have expected that."

She pouted, "I'm not scared."

His forked tongue stretched across the close distance and flickered against her cheek. She shrieked, struggling to pull away from him. "No?"

"My brothers will vanquish you if you kill me," she whimpered one last threat.

"And where are they now? I thought the Charmed Ones' kids were supposed to fight together," he egged her to answer.

She finally admitted, "I wanted to do this alone… If you're going to kill, get it over with!"

He rolled his eyes. "I already said I won't hurt you. My dad told me about your family. He said three beautiful women saved me when I was a baby from the manticores and turned him back to human."

He took her in with a hungry look, noting her long straight chestnut hair, big doe eyes, pert lips, and soft innocent features. In a warmer tone, he said, "Looks like beauty runs in the family."

"What are you? Why did you vanquish those things?" Melinda asked, trying to distract herself from the warmth in the pit of her stomach.

"Peter: half-manticore, half-human. Nice to meet you," he brought her hands (still in his grasp) to his lips. The feel of his tongue made her blush further. "Those 'things' were a few hungry manticores. If you knew that, you would have had the right potions. You almost got yourself killed."

Pointedly ignoring that last part, she focused on the demons, "Manticores? Aren't they cannibals that eat other demons? What are they doing taking humans?"

"I don't know," Peter shrugged.

"Why are you even doing this anyway? Aren't half-demons supposed to be evil, like my aunt's ex-husband?" she narrowed her eyes at him.

"Are we playing twenty questions here? Hasn't your _mommy_ told you it's rude to interrogate someone who saved your life? You didn't even tell me your name," he sounded annoyed again.

That felt like a pike to her pride. She answered out of embarrassment, "Melinda Halliwell, Piper's daughter. Most people call me Mel."

"Melinda," he tasted her name.

She worked to push down the bloom of happiness at the sound of her name on his supernatural tongue. Up close, he's even more attractive. Somehow, she got the feeling that he sensed how she felt. Vulnerabilities are a big no-no right now. Though, he does seem to be a good guy for the moment.

"How's your back, Peter?" she mumbled, touching the bleeding cut on his cheek.

"Don't worry about it," he nonchalantly told her, thinning his lips into a mulish stance.

She peered down, "Wanna get to the ground? I don't really like heights."

Without another word, he pulled her flush against him. It felt strange to shimmer. It was nothing like orbing which felt light and instinctual. This felt dizzying. They shimmered outside the forest area, where she had her car parked. Head swimming, she looked up at him in a daze.

She had to ask, "How'd you know my car was here?"

"I didn't see anyone else in those woods," he shrugged as they headed to the small, beat up car. "When you get home, don't tell your mom you were here. This is my problem. I don't need anyone's help."

Mel swung around, "Wait a second. You're going to take on the whole pack by yourself?"

"That's the plan," he nodded. "I've been tracking them in the Underworld."

"No! I can't let you do that. Now that I know what they are, I can help."

"You can help by going back home, little girl. I can't hunt them and focus on keeping you safe. You're cute and all, but you shouldn't be in this stuff. If they'd have scratched you, you'd have been paralyzed. I'm half manticore so you can say I'm immune to my own venom. Those neat little potions can't help if you can't throw 'em," the finality in his tone echoed in the way he straightened his back and folded his arms.

She bit her lower lip, her eyes dropping to the ground. Hearing that from her family hurts, but hearing it from a stranger hurts worse.

A thought occurred to her. If a scratch can supposedly paralyze her, what can it do to him? She quickly hovered around him, getting a good look at his back for the first time. When he told her not to worry, she didn't think it'd be this bad. The wound looks deep and it's still bleeding. She barely touched it and it literally sent him to his knees. He was hissing in pain, blindly grabbing handfuls of dirt.

"Oh my God!" she gasped. "Have you been forcing yourself this whole time? Come on, Wyatt can heal you."

She tried to take him by the arm but he resisted. "No. I won't get the Charmed Ones involved. This is my fight. Damn it, I didn't want you to see that. Now you'll have to play goody-goody and try to help."

"Well fine then. I'll just leave you for dead and then you'll never be able to fight those manticores. Boys are so stubborn," she sighed. "Peter, car."

He was orbed flat on his stomach into the back seat of the car. He groaned in pain, protesting, "Don't take me to your family."

"I won't," she relented, getting into the driver's seat. "I get it. You want to do it on your own. I want to do the same but I can't let you die. I'm sorry I can't heal you myself but I can compromise. I'll help you get better and then you can take on all the demons you want. Where do you live?"

He calmed at the deal, mumbling some kind of agreement and giving her the address. His eyes started to close reluctantly, listening to the car's muffled hum. Thoughts of the girl drifted through his mind. She might be a timid, naive, and a little unconfident, but there is a fire in her; nothing less from a Halliwell. She was also the most beautiful girl he's ever laid eyes on, not that it mattered.

Good and evil rarely played nice. Once she figured him out, he'll never see her again.


	2. Chapter 2

"Peter," she sweetly cooed, "Peter."

Her voice sounded like something he's been missing for a long time. Soft, feminine, and nurturing, it was a painful reminder of the one thing he's never had: a mother.

His eyes snapped open, shocked at his thoughts, when he was fully roused from sleep. It seems like they got home safe and sound. She smiled apologetically, "I don't have the keys so…"

Grabbing the keys from his pocket, he tossed them at her. She smiled gleefully. As soon as the door was opened, she orbed him to her side. She caught him and wrapped his arm around her shoulder while she wrapped her arm on his lower back. They gradually walked into the house.

"Since when do half-demons live in neighborhoods that look like they're straight out of 'Home and Garden'?" she giggled.

"It's my dad's house. He wanted to raise me 'normal'," he shrugged.

Inside the house was everything that should be in place. It was ideal from the plain white walls to the simple furniture to the calm vibe. She helped him onto the couch.

"Don't you have a healing spell or something?" he groaned, lying face down on the couch.

"If we did, there'd be no point in white-lighters. Sorry, we're doing this the human way," she worried her lower lip, feeling unsure. "Do you have anything that can help?"

"I have disinfectant in the medicine cabinet. There's a small weird-looking package with a needle in there too… have you ever sewed anything in your life?"

"Are you out of your mind?! If you need stitches, I'll take you to the hospital!" she cried, getting up.

"No hospitals!" he growled.

"Why?!" she was getting hysterical at the thought of what he wanted her to do.

"They'll want to have blood work done and they'll examine me. My blood's not normal and how do you think the doctors will react to a _forked tongue_?"

"What would you have done if I wasn't here?"

He struggled to get up, "Just help me to the bathroom. I'll do it myself."

The sharp memory of a younger Melinda being harshly pushed aside by her brothers flashed before her eyes. 'No, Mel, you can't'. She still felt the sting of uselessness and rejection. She had to do better than this. She had to show them that she wasn't weak!

"Stop! Lie back down. I'll do it," she acceded, trying to keep him from hurting himself.

Mel rushed to get everything they needed. She clamored back, hoping to find him better than when she left. He wasn't. In fact, he looked paler. When he noticed her return, he worked to take his shirt off and toss it aside.

Kneeling on the ground beside him, her breathing accelerated as she gouged the wounds on his lower back. There was one deep one and two shallower ones on each side. Small scars were scattered across his whole backside. A part of her appreciated how broad and muscular his back really was. She felt tiny by comparison.

Drops of disinfectant soaked the clean cloth. She trembled as she dabbed the cloth onto the wound. He gritted his teeth, shivering in mind-numbing pain. Almost blindly, she picked up the needle. She barely threaded the first line when a muffled roar escaped him. The sound shocked her to her core. It sent ripples of electricity through her body. The guilt of being useless pained her more.

"I'm sorry, I'm so sorry. If only I could heal you," she whimpered, breaking down.

He groaned, "Don't worry about me, just do…"

Peter stopped when he felt tears. She was everywhere. Her dark hair curtained around him. Her hands were fisted on his back, the cool feel of her wet cheek above them. Her lips were on his fevered shoulder. Something enchanting stirred in his heart, urging him to reach for her. He ran his hand through her fine silky locks.

"Melinda, you're not hurting me," he quietly reassured her, "Calm down. You can do this."

She nodded against him, dropping one last kiss on his shoulder. Needle in hand, she forced herself to focus. He struggled not to make any noise, occasionally a harsh growl escaping. When she finally finished, she collapsed boneless on top of him.

"Thank God. It's over," she breathed her relief, "Thank God for sewing all my dolls' dresses with mom."

"You know, if the timing was different, those kisses from earlier would have been sexy," he said teasingly, voice hoarse from the pain.

She sat up quickly. Tears welled up in her chocolate doe eyes again. "Don't make fun. That was scary. I'm never, ever going to do that ever again."

"You're such a scaredy-witch," he sighed.

"Well, you're a mean half-demon," she sniffled, "but I'm glad you're not going to die."

For some reason, she was happier about that than she cared to admit. Stitching him could easily be the most traumatizing experience in her life but she was glad to be here. She could only imagine the pain if he had been forced to do this alone.

"Hey, Melinda," he said.

"What?" she looked up from her hands.

Cupping her cheek, he brought her close for a kiss. It was only a peck but her lips tingled at the warmth. He pulled away with a sincere, "Thanks for your help."

He was actually impressed that she did that despite how terrified she was. And hell, to be honest he's wanted to do that since he first saw her. Peter decided that she looked prettiest when she blushed, like she was doing now. The way her eyes were half-mast and her lips were parted set him on fire.

Her heart was pounding in her chest. Sure, she's kissed other boys before but it never felt like that. She wondered if it was bad that she wanted to do it again.

He turned his face away from her. "You should get back home. They don't know where you are, right? I highly doubt the Charmed Ones would let their precious little girl go fight unknown demons by herself."

"I'm not going home," she breathlessly said. "You're still injured. You'll need my help to take down those manticores."

He snorted, "Don't push yourself, princess. I can take care of myself. And I already told you: this is my fight."

"But why?" she pressed.

Peter finally snapped, "Because they killed my dad."

The room was thick with silence. She knew she was supposed to say something, but nothing would come out. Peter couldn't look at her.

"Go home, Melinda," he firmly stated.

Mouth set in a mulish line, she said, "Peter, bed."

He orbed off the couch and into his bedroom where she followed. "I'm not going anywhere. I'm still a witch and you're still an innocent; a powerful innocent, yes, but still an innocent. At least let me watch over you until you're better."

He seemed pissed off that she did that but softened. "It takes at least ten days before you can cut the stitches out. I'll let you stay till then but after that, you're gone. You should call your parents. I don't want a witch hunt leading here and ending with me vanquished."

"Okay," she beamed at that. "Hm, mom's going to be really mad that I'll miss two weeks of school… oh well!"

He froze. "…School? Exactly how old are you?"

"I'll be seventeen next month," she cheerfully informed.

He groaned loudly and buried his face into his pillow. "Great, now I'm a cradle robber."

"What are you talking about?" she asked, pouting.

"I'm twenty, princess," he grinned despite his pained expression.

She huffed. "So? That's not a huge difference. Besides, don't flatter yourself. It's not like I'd date you anyway," she said in all her fine snobbery, much to his delight. "What do you do when you're not hunting demons then?"

"Police academy," he answered, earning a shocked stare from her.

She mumbled, "You don't seem like the type."

"Is it that much of a jump that I'd hunt human evil too? Or does the whole 'bad-boy, half-demon' thing make it weird that I'd follow rules?"

She giggled, "Exactly."

"I can be very good when I feel like it."

"And when you don't feel like it?" her breath caught in her throat for some reason.

"Then I'm very, very bad," he smirked.

In a vain attempt to hide her blush, she swiftly got up with the excuse of contacting home. She figured if she called home, Uncle Henry would use police stuff to track her down. Instead, she wrote a letter. It contained all the normal, non-informative type of things that would simultaneously keep them from worrying, keep them from finding her, and keep them out of the loop. In the end, she added: _I need to find my destiny on my own._

Once she was satisfied with it, she whispered, "Manor."

The letter dissolved into orbs. If only she could see what her family was doing now. It would be really cool if she could have a mirror that could show her, like in her favorite Disney movie.

Lighting struck. How could she not have thought of this before? She took out a compact mirror from her purse.

Closing her eyes, she tried her own spell.

"_Mirror, mirror in my hand_

_of your reflection, give me command_

_show me those in my head_

_so I don't worry before going to bed."_

No one ever accused her of being good at spell casting. But when images flickered in the reflection, she squealed in joy. The sight of her mother blubbering at the kitchen table immediately made her feel bad. The older woman was still beautiful and her sorrowful tears were heartbreaking. Piper paused when the letter orbed into her hands. She wiped her tears from her red-rimmed eyes.

"Leo! Wyatt, Chris! Get in here!" she called in a shrill voice.

The three men rushed in, eyes open to any danger.

"What happened?" Leo asked upon entrance.

Piper held the letter to them. "This orbed in. Mel wrote this."

"Do you think someone could have forced her to do this?" her father asked, passing the letter to his sons. "Why wouldn't she be able to come back for at least two weeks?"

"I don't know," she could barely say, on the edge of tears again.

Her husband pulled her into an embrace. She laid her head on his shoulder, taking comfort.

Chris was frustrated, "We still can't sense her, here or in the Underworld. Wherever she is, she's cloaked."

Wyatt offered his distressed mother, "Don't worry. We'll find her."

"Leo, I don't understand. Where can she be? Why doesn't she just call? Do you think she knows Henry's keeping tabs on the phone line?"

Melinda rolled her eyes. She scribbled on a note 'yeah, I know about Uncle Henry' and orbed it to Piper. When Piper read this, her head snapped up. She peered around guardedly.

"Melinda Halliwell, if you can hear me, you better get your wiccan ass back home right now!" the fierce mother yelled at air.

At that point, Mel shut the mirror and stuffed it back into her purse. The letter said it all. There's no point in arguing.

"Princess, what were those voices?" Peter called to her.

She walked into his room feeling resolved. "What's with this 'princess' thing?" Mel asked with a cocked brow.

"You're the daughter of one of the Charmed Ones who are practically royalty in the magical world. That makes you a princess. Plus you remind me of one since you're all innocent," he explained it as if it were the most obvious thing in the world, "Unless, of course, you prefer 'scaredy-witch'."

She resisted the urge to roll her eyes but couldn't stop the impatient sigh. "What do you normally sleep in?"

"Why?" he was unwilling to give an honest answer. He anticipated an awkward situation if he told her boxers at most.

"I can't exactly sleep in this," she gestured to her clothes.

"Can't you orb your own clothes from home?" that anticipated awkward situation would become so much worse as he imagined her in one of his shirts; _only_ one of his shirts.

"They definitely have them spelled with trackers by now and I wasn't expecting to be on this hunt for two weeks. I have _one_ change of clothes in my car because I was worried I might get demon blood on me," she ranted, hand on hip.

He blinked, defeat reigning on him. "There are t-shirts in the dresser."

Victory at hand, she skipped across the room. She dug out a clean-smelling shirt from a messy top drawer. Waving a hand over herself, she said, "Tank top, t-shirt."

Both shirts glowed in orbs of glittering blue lights until they switched places. His shirt was absurdly big on her and its length covered her shorts, giving the illusion that she wore nothing beneath. That anticipated awkward situation became a reality all too soon. He wasn't sure if he should thank his luck or curse it.

She flushed in her attempt to roll up the shirt. He did not look this big wearing his other shirt. What makes matters worse is that they are form fitting which makes him a giant by comparison.

"Why are you still wearing that cloak?" he asked, trying to avoid awkwardness.

She played with the silk material self-consciously, "I spelled it to keep me hidden. I'm sure the second I take it off, my family will find me."

He watched her internal struggle with solemn eyes. She clearly wants to go home, but she made her decision.

"Well, goodnight," she tried to duck out of the room.

"Where do you think you're going?" he called her back.

"The couch?" she answered in confusion.

"You can take my bed. I'll take the couch."

"No way! You can barely move. Shimmering doesn't count. I'll take the couch."

"Look, I can't let a girl sleep on the couch. You take my bed and I'll take my dad's. Sound good?"

She hesitated. It's true that she would have been way too uncomfortable to sleep in Peter's deceased father's room, but the couch would have been fine for her. At least this way, he'd sleep in a bed. "I guess that works…"

"Goodnight," he whispered, shimmering out.

Mel felt nervous for some reason. Although he's not physically here, it's his room and his bed. Cautiously, she sat down, the bed bearing down her weight. The pillow and sheets were unnaturally inviting. What is she doing? She is holding her breath and praying she's made all the right choices.

She lowered herself to snuggle into the soft, silky still-warm pillow. She breathed in the wholly spicy, masculine musk. An unintentionally loud moan left her lips at the simple pleasure of being in an enticing bed after her unbelievable day. All she could hope for at this point was a peaceful sleep.

His pants tightened at the sound of a moan from his room. What could she be moaning about? Regardless, he can't let himself make any noise. If she found him on the couch, she'd orb him back to his bed. Stubborn girl. No, correction: stubborn, stupid girl. He can't believe he has to deal with her. He will admit that he doesn't know if he could have stitched himself up. More likely than not, he would have been forced to find someone. _But_ she's too much of a hindrance. She's making him feel.


	3. Chapter 3

The pale morning light filtered in, a wakeup call to those too fond of sleep. Vaguely, she wondered if she could cast a spell to delay the morning because she felt beyond comfortable. In fact, she felt wonderfully blissful. She cuddled closer into the warmth with a small smile on her face.

Except she realized attached to the warmth is a hard body. Melinda decided not to panic. Her clothes are intact. There's not even the slightest chance anything happened since she remembered going to bed. More likely, she probably sleep-orbed him into bed. Not the worst thing she could have done, but how morbidly embarrassing. Another possibly is that he shimmered into bed. But he wouldn't do that. He's a gentleman beneath the rough exterior… unless he unconsciously shimmered.

His arm looped tighter around her waist, reminding her she could feel his entire body against hers. His face was nestled into the crook of her neck and his bicep somehow became her pillow in the night. None of this was as much a problem as his other hand, currently hooked between her thighs. Is this what her teddy feels like when she cuddles with it? If he were a trap, he was the one vise she didn't want to escape from.

She felt hot all over and knew this wasn't because of the weather. Hoping to be subtle, she gently moved his hand from her thighs and waist. With one last glance back at his angelic sleeping form, she slipped out.

He woke with a start and a vague feeling of loss. Thoughtlessly he tried to get up. Pain stabbed his back, reminding him that this wasn't a normal morning. That's when the thought occurred to him… why is he in his bed? Did she get up in the middle of the night, find him on the couch, and orb him? Or even worse: did he shimmer here in his sleep? Images of his all-too-erotic dream he had last night came rushing back. Then again, he's never sleep-shimmered before. Either way, he's not going to be the one to bring this up.

A sweet floral smell emitted from the pillow to tease his nose. That can't be right. That would mean she slept here too.

"Son of a witch," he cursed into his pillow, truth enlightening him.

"Peter?" the tentative voice asked, "are you awake?"

"Yeah."

She opened the door with her arms crossed under her breasts. Looks like she had on the only change of clothes she brought. The only constant was her black cloak. "There's literally nothing in the fridge except spoiled milk. What the hell do you eat around here?"

"Nothing. I eat out when I can," he replied.

"Didn't you learn how to cook from your dad?"

"Dad sucked at cooking. He was a teacher. When we didn't have microwave dinners, he took me out to eat too," a fond nostalgic smile split his face as he recounted.

Melinda tapped her chin thoughtfully. All the endless possible breakfast dishes spun through her mind. "This won't due. My mom's a chef so I always ate home cooked meals. Hell, I grew up in a kitchen. I'm going to the market!" she excitedly exclaimed.

"What am I supposed to do?" he didn't want to stay in bed all day.

She laughed as she skipped to the door, "Stay there and look pretty. Don't worry about me. I brought emergency cash on me. Be back soon!"

He groaned at her departure. She was way too happy with their current living situation. He's already getting sick of the way she acted so… cute. If she knew his true nature, she wouldn't be this eager to help him. For now, it looks like he has no choice. He called a buddy of his to cover for his two-week absence.

She got back sooner than expected and immediately set off to work. Luckily finding a skillet and a few other necessities, she brought out the eggs. It's strange. She always helped her mother in the kitchen but somehow, cooking for someone else felt different. Once she finished, she loaded everything onto two plates and walked in the room.

The steaming omelet contained various types of vegetables and cheeses. He stared at it for a while, picking up the plate with mild curiosity.

"Before you start eating with your hands, you should try something called a 'fork'," she giggled at his gawk.

"Don't mock me or I'll only use my tongue," he threatened with a smile.

Melinda laughed until a thought suddenly hit her. Based on what he said before, this has to be the first home-cooked meal he's ever had. She pouted, trying to imagine what that could be like. To never have a mother put in the effort to make him a meal? That's too sad.

He took a bite and carelessly said, "This is good. Thanks."

Feeling sentimental, she grinned at him radiantly, "I'm really glad you like it. I'll cook everything from now on!"

Peter couldn't help but feel shaken by her unexpected response. She reminded him of a puppy in every way.

"What do you plan on doing until I recover?" he asked, changing the subject. He was angry that he had to be uselessly bedridden for two weeks.

"I want to figure out why the manticores are attacking people but I'm not sure where to start."

"Don't look at me for help. I've already made it clear that if it were up to me, you'd be home right now."

"Humph! Well if I go home, my family gets involved."

"Yeah, yeah, I know," he sighed.

She furrowed her brow, "If I can't do anything to investigate, I guess I'll just go manticore hunting-"

He suddenly became to deathly serious. "No."

She crossed her arms. "What do you mean 'no'? I can't let other innocents get hurt and you can't stop me."

"Melinda, you got lucky last time. I can't let you go alone and I don't want your death on my conscience."

"I can handle myself now that I know what I'm up against. You can't stop me if you can barely move. Besides I'm not your responsibility, you're mine."

"Dammit Melinda-"

She shouted at him, "If I can't do this by myself then what was the point of leaving home?!"

He didn't reply for a long time. Despite her determination, she was fiercely blushing. Reaching for the small nightstand, he pulled out a dagger from the drawer. He cut his palm, hissing at the stinging pain.

She jolted up, shocked, "What are you-"

"I want to make sure you can't be paralyzed. If my blood is immune, maybe if you drink it, you'll be immune too. Then I can test it by scratching you."

"No way!" her eyes widened impossibly. "You can't."

"I'm already bleeding. Now do you want to try it or not…?"

This was the last thing she expected him to do. The red blood was dripping onto the bed sheets. Is this wrong? Is this a bad choice? She didn't know. She wasn't sure of what she should do. Meeting his grave hazel eyes, her breath came out shaky. Her heart already made a decision.

"You don't have to be afraid. At worst, nothing will happen. I would never hurt you," he promised.

With both hands, she gingerly took hold of his. Blood aside, it was a normal looking hand. This hand ripped out a demon's throat last night. She brought it to her lips, planting a small kiss into his bleeding palm. The first taste was that of disgusting copper metal. She squeezed her eyes shut and continued sucking.

It sent shivers through him like nothing else. "Melinda," he groaned.

She dropped his hand at the sound of her name. Blood was smeared over her lips and chin. The good witch seemed horrified by her actions. "I- what am I- what did I-"

He forcibly pulled her against him, crashing his lips onto her bloodied ones. The taste of his blood on her lips sent him to a new high. He licked her lips. She barely had time to react when he broke the hard kiss. He rubbed off the remaining blood from her lips with his thumb.

He felt a little ashamed by her previous fear. "On a list of ideas, maybe that wasn't my greatest one. I just wanted to protect you."

Her lashes fluttered. "It's ok. I chose to accept." There was a lull moment before she asked, "How long do you think before it takes affect?"

"I think it already did."

It was then that she felt a sting on her arm and noticed he had cut her. She flexed her hand. There wasn't any paralysis. She was immune to the manticore venom.

"Peter!" she gleefully hugged him. "It worked!"

He winced at her tight embrace but smiled. She recoiled, blushing, "Oh, sorry."

"It's fine."

Barely a few inches from his face, Melinda realized she was in an increasing awkward situation. She jumped off, grabbed the dirty dishes, and retreated to the kitchen.

"Well, better get started on those potions. I'm so glad my mom forced me to memorize all the different potions. Who knows? I might even get all those manticore demons tonight."

He chuckled at her fast getaway.

She called from outside, "You really don't have anything in here, do you? I'm going to get the ingredients from the market and buy clothes while I'm at it. Be back in a few hours."

The door slam shut. Looks like Peter had to endure the dullness of recovery on his own.

Minutes ticked by slowly. This is why he hates being home alone. Peter killed the time by reading through various newspapers. With every page and every article he went through, he grew more and more irritated.

What the hell is going on? Sure, he doesn't normally spend time at home. Most days, he only comes back to sleep. But he shouldn't be eagerly awaiting her return.

He was still pondering Melinda when _he_ shimmered into his room. Dressed in a black suit and tie, he licked his lips with his snake-like tongue in anticipation. The raven haired, green eyed man smirked down at the injured younger man.

Ira. He regretted the day he ever met this man. That night after his first part-time job interview, he should have been at home.

Peter tried to get up too quickly and winced. "Damn. If you're going to kill me, Ira, just get it over with." At the very least he had to make sure this demon doesn't see Melinda.

In his deep rumbling voice, Ira said, "Calm down, cousin. I'm here to talk. I've heard from the pack that you're hunting down family members. Isn't it appalling to hurt your own blood?"

"I never asked to be your blood."

"I came here to give you one last chance. It's difficult enough for our females to conceive with humans. We're a rare breed and we should do our part to protect the family. This is your final warning: join us or die."

Peter was coldly silent. His cousin knew his answer.

Ira sighed, "I blame your father for nurturing your hatred of your family. Those witches killed your mother but it was that man that took you away from us. If only I had found you much earlier. You and I could have been so much closer."

Rage suddenly blinded him, coursing like hot and hateful fire in his blood, and Peter shot across the room at Ira. Claws out, he had every intention of killing the man. But Ira easily smacked him into the side wall.

Eyes flashing yellow, Ira hissed, "Until next time, cousin." And then he shimmered out.

"Damn it." Blood ran down his chin from a new split lip but unimaginable pain came from his back. He definitely ripped the stitches. He could feel the blood trickle down his side.

Air barely filled his lungs as he lay face down. His jaw hurt from the tension of keeping his mouth closed. Melinda's terrified face came to mind when he remembered she would be coming back. If she walked in and saw him like this, she'd want to restitch the wound. There was no way he would force her to relive that trauma.

He shimmered into the bathroom, his body leaning heavily against the sink. He pulled out the surgical kit from the medicine cabinet with little strength. Disgusted by his own pathetic capacity for pain, he started to pull out the remaining stitches.

"Peter, I'm back. I finished faster than I thought," she called into the house. In truth, she simply wanted to get back as soon as she could. She wanted to talk about the passion-confused kiss and what it meant.

He fell silent. How could he avoid her? If she finds him, then-

She walked into the bathroom. Her eyes widened at the sight of his bleeding all over.

He forced a tight grin. "Haven't you ever heard of knocking?"

"Peter!" she rushed over, "What happened? Oh no, lie down, you shouldn't be standing. You should've just called or never mind; just lie down. I'll stitch it if that's what you need."

"I can- do it myself," he panted the words.

Tears welled in her eyes. "If you weren't so hurt, I'd slap you right now. Depend on me a little, ok? I want to help."

Somehow, he'd never heard sweeter, more heartfelt words.

She orbed him to his bed. From there, she tried to heal him.


End file.
